


Adventures in Fail!Domesticity

by ivanolix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Banter, Canon - TV, Cooking, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Married Couple, Season/Series 03, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-27
Updated: 2009-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Domestic life on New Caprica, pre-occupation. Not so perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Fail!Domesticity

Chill snuck through the hood on Kara's coat as she wove through the crowds of New Caprica City, and it slid under her long hair and down her neck. All the times she'd grown tired of the hair she remembered just how much worse the cold would be with an exposed neck. And that was all hair was for in the end, practicality (and for Sam to run his fingers through, because there were few sensual pleasures quite like that—but never mind).

Just as she squeezed through the mainway, heading towards her pathetic dwelling, a familiar tuft of hair atop a particularly tall head caught her eye and made her frown.

"Sam, what are you doing?" she called, tone clearly implying that she wasn't pleased.

"Spoons," he answered over the few heads that separated them, holding up the simple utensils.

"Frak, you left the stove going alone?" she asked rubbing her hands together for warmth as they hurried home. "If it burned, Sam, I swear..."

"It's soup and it's on simmer," Sam said, his breathy words making clouds in the cold air. "You know I know how to cook."

"Yeah, but not my recipe," Kara said with a grimacing grin.

The reinforced tent walls made the air relatively warmer inside their "house", and the stove helped even more. Kara took a deep breath of the lukewarm air, and her throat relaxed a little, her goosebumps fading. She sighed out with some relief. It was good to be home.

“Gods, I’m hungry,” she said, putting her hands over the steam rising from the kettle. Instead of just throwing a meal together like usual, or like the way Sam did it on his cooking days, she’d decided to hunt down something a little more planned today. And though New Caprican onions didn’t have the same taste as Colonial ones, the sting in her eyes as she minced them was just as aggravating.

Of course, being called away to break up a Viper dispute in the middle had messed with her recipe, but she’d written hasty directions for Sam and marched off, trusting he’d finish. After him cooking for his resistance group on Caprica, she didn’t really doubt his capability. He’d cooked more recently than she, anyways—she hadn’t bothered after coming onto Galactica, going on five years ago now.

Sam was now rummaging about in their dish bucket for the bowls, and he put them with the spoons he’d acquired on the little table next to the stove. He was right, she’d forgotten that they only had chopsticks when choosing this soup as a recipe.

“Interesting smell,” Sam commented, sticking his nose into the rising steam and inhaling deeply.

Kara clenched and unclenched her hands, the steam bringing warmth and elasticity to the muscles. Recovered from her trip in the cold, and not too happy about Duck and Jammer forcing her out there, she grabbed a wooden spoon. The soup bubbled nicely, and she couldn’t quite remember how it should smell, but it didn’t smell burnt.

She spooned a little of the broth, sipping it and then jerking her head back as the broth scalded her lip. “Frak, frak, frak!” she cursed, bringing a finger up to press against her lip. Maybe she had lost whatever cooking skills she’d had.

“Hideous, or just hot?” Sam asked.

She rolled her eyes at him, ignoring the invitation to banter. Blowing on the soup still left in the spoon, she went to taste it again. “If it was hideous, it’d hardly be just my fault, since you—” she acknowledged the taste with a pause. “Oh g—” She choked, putting her free hand up to her mouth. “Oh gods.”

“Kara?” Sam looked curious and slightly worried that she’d burned her mouth again.

Kara just wanted that taste out of her mouth. She wanted to forget she’d ever tasted it. “Gods, Sam, what the hell did you put in this?” she asked incredulously.

“Only what was on your note, I swear,” said Sam, putting one hand up.

Kara waved her hand in front of her mouth, cooling her lip and trying to clear the smell and taste. “I did not think anything could be quite that horrid, not with a recipe.”

“You sure you remembered the recipe right?” Sam asked curiously.

She started to glare. “It’s my recipe, Sam, of course I remembered it. It couldn’t just be the onions either, this is just—wrong.” She couldn’t explain it; the spices, overtones and undertones, clashed so horribly in a way she could feel, if not nail down on exact principles.

“Oh, well, so it’s automatically my fault then?” Sam asked, a hand resting on his belt and the tone in his voice starting to rise.

“It’s not a bad guess, is it?” said Kara back, her own hand coming to her hip.

“Kara, I told you, I know how to follow a godsdamn recipe,” Sam said. He grabbed one of the spoons, scooping up some broth and making sure it was well cooled. It barely got into his mouth before he shuddered. “Euagh.” 

“See, I’m not making this up.” Kara brushed a long bang out of her face, wondering if she should just dump the soup outside right now.

“I didn’t say you were,” Sam said back. “But Kara, how was I supposed to know what it was supposed to taste like? I just put in what was on the list. Garlic, parsnips, cinnamon, cl—”

 “Wait.” Kara stopped him with a hand. A dread was coiling in her empty stomach. “Cinnamon.”

Sam added half a sigh to his snark. “Well, if your handwriting had been worse it might have been carrots, but I’m pretty sure I read it right.”

Kara put a hand to her head. “Frak.”

There was a pause. “What?” Sam asked, curious and not defensive anymore.

Half a choked laugh escaped her throat. “Oh frak me,” she said through another one.

Sam eyed her, wary if it would be wise to join in, and that just made it worse.

“I’m an idiot,” she said, almost giggling, wiping the corner of her eye. “I forgot which recipe I was doing halfway through. I switched—” She bit back another giggle.

Her words dawned on Sam, and he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Right. And...I should have figured that out.”

“Maybe, yeah,” she said, trying to be serious and failing. “Who knows.”

“So...” Sam asked the true question.

It had been a long day, and Kara could barely keep a hold on her giggles. “Now we throw this mess out the tent and go beg something from Cally.” She leaned on the edge of the stove, shaking with weary amusement at her own stupidity.

A grin crossed Sam’s face, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Sounds fine with me, honestly.”

“Shouldn’t have doubted your cooking skills,” Kara admitted, lifting the pot from the stove and carrying it towards the entrance.

“Damn right, baby,” Sam murmured, plopping a kiss on her hair as he opened the tent flap for her.

Her hands were occupied with the pot, and he knew it, or he wouldn’t have dared that word. But she couldn’t care much about any of this scenario anyway. Domestic life—sucked. It sucked big time. So she didn’t care that they had to struggle at it.

“Sometimes I hate this planet,” Sam said, his arm around her waist as they left the foul mess in the ditch and headed towards the Tyrols’ house.

Kara just hmmed her approval, and leaned onto him. Life wasn’t bad, but their bliss was definitely not domestic.


End file.
